


Compatibility

by hellkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Time, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little more-or-less PWP of my stupid crack pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compatibility

She’d been drinking with Skids. That was going to be her excuse...forever. She’d been drinking with him and he was clearly-- _clearly--_ a bad influence. Though, in all honesty, it wasn’t his fault that she took her way back to her quarters down through the command deck, right past the captain’s office.

The captain’s office with the open door. The open door and the captain himself seated in the command chair, studying a schematic.

She still remembered the last time they'd talked. Okay, she wasn't at that age where her memory of things was even in question, but she remembered it, well, fondly. Thrillingly, more like, leading her mind, even pre-inebriation, down some rather salacious channels.

There was her in, though, right there: the way he studied the schematic, pulling it up to a 3D holo. Nautica draped herself on the doorframe, trying to look as sinuous and sexy as possible, pitching her voice to a husky timbre. “I can help if you need help reading that.” She was all about schematics. Well, mostly about them, and at least a little bit about getting closer to Megatron. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something about him, the suppressed danger in his massive frame, some dark, tempting power in his voice.

He looked over at her, and something in her thrilled to those red optics. "Less help, perhaps, than an opinion," he said, after a long pause, gesturing her to enter.

This was going surprisingly well already, she thought, masking the slight wobble in her step as she entered. "I haven't seen you around the dining facility lately," she said, casually, just to remind him, in case he'd forgotten.

"I was unaware you'd been looking for me." Something like amusement in the voice, amusement and...something else she couldn't place. That maybe wasn't her fault: she'd only read romances up to this point, never lived in one. But she was aware she'd given something away--that she had been looking for him.

Should she try to play it off? No. He seemed like the kind of mech who appreciated boldness. She could be bold. "I'd rather enjoyed our conversation." She loaded about as much weight into the last word as it could stand. "I had kind of hoped we could continue."

Under the heavy rim of the miner's helm, he quirked one supraorbital ridge. "I haven't had a chance to write any poetry."

"Poetry can wait, I suppose. I mean, you need the right occasion, the right mood, right?" She flashed a smile that would have been far more nervous than bright with just a little less of Skids's special blend of engex.

"And waste disposal lines," he gestured toward the schematics, "inspire neither, I'm afraid."

"Eurgh, waste disposal." Well, that was a moodkiller. Still, she'd kind of committed, so she stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the outer gossamer edges of his EM field against her side.

“Leadership has its glamor,” Megatron said, wryly. “Studying waste disposal systems at midnight is one of them.”

Leadership certainly had a kind of glamor to her, or maybe he did. She could see now, what the Autobot histories couldn’t explain, how he might have called forth a kind of devotion, a strong faith. She’d never seen someone so sure of who he was and his right to be that, even back home. Even the Autobot leader, Optimus Prime, wore leadership uncomfortably, like it was heavy and clumsy.

“It’s kind of funny, though,” she said, “how little things change. I mean, millions of years of separation and...waste disposal systems haven’t really changed. At all.” At least not from what she could see on this schematic.

“I’m afraid not much has advanced if it hasn’t been directly connected to better ways to kill each other.”

“I can’t imagine you’re afraid of anything,” she said, tilting her head, studying the schematic, tracing the fuel lines with one finger. She could feel his optics on her, feel the size of him next to her. It was thrilling, almost like being near Thunderblast, but with more of a whetted edge of danger.

“It’s hard to hold onto fear when you’ve been as close to death as I have,” he said, blandly. But he stepped in closer, as though he could sense her tremulous desire and hesitation.

“I’ve only ever been in one fight,” she said, trying to suppress the delicious shiver in her armor. She wasn’t quite sure she’d acquitted herself well. It was hard to tell when your weapon was a wrench.

“Let’s hope we can keep it that way. We’ve had enough of war.” At least he had, he seemed to say.

“There’s other things we could be doing, right?” She smiled up at him, then felt her cheekplates flush with heat. “I-I meant, you know, adventures, rebuilding. Not...that.” That. You know.

“Why not...that?” Oh, he clearly knew: she could hear the warmth in his voice, a kindling kind of heat.

“Well, you know, fraternization, or something.” Wow, he was big, and powerful, and...really kind of hunky.

“Is that the only objection?” His chin tipped down toward her. “Because I seem to recall a previous conversation where you were arguing the opposite.”

Yeah, she remembered it, too. Like, every night. And especially right now, and that same kind of giddy, electric thrill ran through her. She swallowed around a sudden, eager lump in her throat. “Well, I mean, I’m not sure if we’re, you know, compatible.” Nautica felt her cheekplates heat.

“There is,” he said, and his voice was like warm silk being dragged right down her spinal struts, “one way to definitively answer that.” His hand covered hers, the large, thick fingers curling impossibly gently around her wrist.

“Y-yeah. That’s true.” She cycled a long, slow vent of air, gathering herself. Yes or no, Nautica? Here was your chance and my oh my he was a handsome one. And it had been a question in the back of her mind since she’d run into these strange Cybertronians. So, then...for science?

Her other hand moved to the inner side of his forearm, finding the small hatch, just where it was in Camiens. Maybe they weren’t so different?

She felt a bubble of something like laughter in her chassis, foaming around her spark--what would Windblade say if she saw her now? Chromia would probably scold her for being so indecisive. Right. She opened the hatch, releasing her own, turning her optics up to meet his. He looked...almost as hesitant as she was, as though neither of them could really believe this was happening, almost afraid to move or say anything unless it snapped them back to their senses.

Her fingertips skimmed the end of his cable, part of her thrilling to the sudden intake of air. It looked about the right size--ports had some flexibility, after all. It glinted green, catching the glow of the three-d image of the ship still glowing beside them.

Someone with a little more technique and patience might have drawn this out, turned it into its own little dance and flirtation. Someone better at this than her, and Megatron, apparently. Because his hand moved to her hatch, as well, turning his wrist over, in an open offer: her first.

She nodded, gathering her courage, which was rising on a frothing tide of excitement, pulling out her cord, and after one last moment of sweet hesitation, slipped it home in his port, feeling the velvety rubber of the port snug around the small jack, smaller than her pinky finger. She could feel the rise of current through the linkage, a flood of excited electrons, a voltage higher than her own, sizzling through her whole body, making ghost-blue sparks dance over the joints of her frame.

“Too much?” His voice was a whisper, conspiratorial and concerned, a tone she’d never attach to Megatron from the chronicles she’d read.

Nautica didn’t trust herself to speak, shaking her head. It was just on the edge of too much, but she had dampeners, capacitors, that she called to take the extra load, sending every part of her tingling and alive.

He drew off, anyway, reducing the current through the connection, then letting it roll back on, a rising pulse that had her gasping, hand clutching at the desk. “No fair,” she murmured, taking his cable, and spooling out some cord, slipping it into her own port. He wasn’t going to have all the fun, she thought, though, honestly, it was pretty fun already, more than she’d ever imagined, with a dark thrill of danger like a thread stitched through this.

Her own current was softer than his, like sleek satin compared to his velvet, without the burr of his charge. The two poured current into each other, in rising waves and teasing arpeggios of electrons, creating a resonating harmony through the link between them, both of their bodies as reservoirs and sounding chambers for the exquisite flow and counterflow.

Nautica loved that wonderful familiarity of knowing a lover’s body, what she wanted, what resonances and frequencies were the most pleasurable; but this was something new and good, this discovery of a new body, this wonderful new country, the testing and teasing. He was like a sword, sharp and hard and clean edged: she was quicksilver curiosity, slipping around him, over him, both chasing each other, longing and curious and lonely and seeking, their energies spiraling around each other, like a waterspout, a building cyclone lifting them both up, until Megatron leaned over, closing the loop between them, mouth brushing hers, and the current spilled over both of them, cascading bright and electric through their bodies, white and wonderful, sweeping away everything else, all the worries and fears and everything, leaving them bare and exposed and vulnerable before each other, bodies scoured raw and shiver.  

"W-well," she said, feeling the ebbing vibration through her body, a delicious ghost of pleasure, "I guess that answers that."  Good girl, go for humor.  At least she'd feel a little less...exposed, her optics still shamelessly, naughtily, skimming over the broad chestplate, powerful arms.

Megatron gave a soft chuff of laughter, a deep rumble that lingered into a hum, tracing one thumb along her cheek.  "I think I may be able to write you that poem, now." 

 


End file.
